in a deep musical voice, “so I have prepared breakfast. Are you ready?”
“Ready!” repeated Hockins, rising with a mighty yawn, and stretching himself, as was his wont; “I just think we are. Leastwise I am. Good luck to ’ee Mister Outlaw, what have ’ee got there?”
“Beef, marrow-bones, and rice,” replied the man. “You may call me Samuel if you like. It was my father’s first name, but I’m best known among my friends as Ravoninohitriniony.”
“Well, that is a jaw-breaker!” exclaimed Hockins, with a laugh, as they all sat down to breakfast. “Ra-vo—what did ’ee say?”
“Better not try it till arter breakfast,” suggested Ebony.
“Couldn’t we shorten it a bit?” said Mark, beginning to consult a marrow-bone. “What say you to the first half—Ravonino?”
“As you please,” replied the outlaw, who was already too much absorbed with steaks to look up.
“Not a bad notion,” said Hockins. “Sam’l Ravonino—I’ve heerd wuss; anyhow it’s better than the entire complication—eh, Ebony?”
“Mush better,” assented the negro; “dere’s no use wotsomediver for de hitri—hitri-folderol-ony bit of it. Now, ’Ockins, fair play wid de marrow-bones. Hand me anoder.”
“Is it far, Mr Ravonino,” asked Mark, “from here to the capital—to Antananarivo?”
“You cleared ’im that time, Doctor!” murmured Hockins, wiping his mouth with a bunch of grass which he carried as a substitute for a pocket-handkerchief.
“Yes, it is a long way,” said the outlaw; “many days’ journey over mountain and plain.”
“And are you going to guide us all the way there?”
“No, not all the way. You forget I am an outlaw. It would cost me my life if I were to appear in Antananarivo.”
Mark was on the point of asking why, but, remembering the rebuff of the previous night, forbore to put questions relative to his new friend’s personal affairs. Indeed he soon found that it was useless to do so, for whenever he approached the subject Ravonino became so abstracted and deaf that no reply could be drawn from him. As if to compensate for this, however, the man was exceedingly communicative in regard to all other subjects, and there was a quiet urbanity in his manner which rendered his conversation exceedingly attractive. Moreover, to the surprise of Mark, this mysterious stranger gave evidence of a considerable amount of education. He also gratified Hockins by his evident delight in the flageolet, and his appreciation of nautical stories and “lingo,” while he quite won the heart of Ebony by treating him with the same deference which he accorded to his companions. In short each of our travellers congratulated himself not a little on this pleasant acquisition to the party—the only drawback to their satisfaction being their inability to reconcile the existence of such good qualities with the condition of an outlaw!
“However,” remarked Hockins, after a long talk with his comrades on this subject when Ravonino was absent, “it’s none of our business what he’s bin an’ done to other people. What we’ve got to do with is the way he behaves to us, d’ee see?”
“He’s a trump,” said Ebony, with a nod of decision.
“I agree with you,” said Mark; “and I only wish he was a little more communicative about himself. However, we must take him as we find him, and try to win his confidence.”
During the whole of that first day their guide conducted them through such intricate and evidently unfrequented parts of the forest that their advance was comparatively slow and toilsome, but, being young and strong and well-fed, they did not mind that. In fact Mark Breezy enjoyed it, for the wilder and more tangled the scenery was through which they forced their way, the more did it accord with the feelings of romance which filled him, and the thought, too, of being guided through the woods by an outlaw tended rather to increase his satisfaction.
“Are all the roads in your island as bad as these?” he asked, after plumping up to the knees in a quagmire, out of which he scrambled with difficulty.
“No, many of them are worse and some better,” answered the guide; “but I keep away from them, because the Queen’s soldiers and spies are hunting about the land just now.”
“Oho!” thought Mark, “I begin to see; you are a rebel.” Then, aloud, “Your country, then, is governed by a queen?”
“Misgoverned,” returned Ravonino in a tone of bitterness, which, however, he evidently tried to restrain.
Fearing to tread again on forbidden ground, Mark forbore to put questions about the guide’s objections to his queen, but simply asked her name, and if she had reigned long.
“Her name,” said Ravonino, “is Ranavalona. She has reigned for twenty-seven years—twenty-seven long and weary years! I was a little boy when she usurped the throne. Now my sun has reached its meridian, yet she is still there, a blight upon the land. But God knows what is best. He cannot err.”
This was the first reference that Ravonino had made to the Creator, and Mark was about to push his inquiries further, when a confused sound of voices was heard not far in advance of them.
Ravonino, who had been walking with an easy nonchalant air ahead of the party, on a very narrow footpath, suddenly stopped to listen with a look of anxiety. A moment later and he entered the bush that fringed the path and overhung it.
“Come,” he said in a low voice, “follow me, close!”
Without a word of explanation he strode into the dense undergrowth, through which he went with the agility of a panther and the sinuosity of a serpent. The others, being, as we have said, very active and strong, kept close at his heels, though not without difficulty. Coming at last to a place where the shrubbery was so intertwined that it was impossible to see more than a yard or two in advance, they suddenly found themselves stopped by a sheer precipice. Only for a few seconds, however, was their progress arrested, while their guide turned to explain.
“There is another and an easier way to the place I am making for, but it is much longer and more exposed. I take for granted that you have strong arms and steady heads, but if not, speak out, for I would not lead you into danger.”
“Lead on,” said Mark, promptly, “wherever you go, we will follow.”
With something like an amused twinkle of the eye, Ravonino began to climb up the face of the precipice, holding on to roots and rope-like creepers like a monkey.
“If this here sort o’ cordage was only a bit more taut I wouldn’t mind it so much,” growled Hockins, as he lost his footing at one place, and swung off the face of the precipice,—holding on to a stout creeper, however, with seaman-like grip and coolness. He quickly caught hold of another creeper, and drew himself again into comparative safety. A minute later and they all stood on a ledge, high up on the face of the cliff, and close to what appeared to be the mouth of a cavern.
“Look there,” said their guide, pushing aside the bushes which overhung the cliff in all directions.
They looked, and through the opening beheld a band of men moving in single file along the track they had just left. They were most of them nearly naked, with only short calico breeches which did not quite reach to their knees, but all had muskets on their shoulders and cross-belts on their dark bodies, one of which belts sustained apparently
